


almost

by cheolhie



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Non-Linear Narrative, Photography, Poetry, Smut, Symbolism, honestly just a bit of a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 02:30:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13965432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheolhie/pseuds/cheolhie
Summary: “i feel claimed. i feel open and vulnerable. i also feel like a god. i feel as if people are going to come to my altar and pray. i feel infinite, spread out like this.”





	almost

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this over the course of three nights, at two am, whilst suffering from a terrible cold. it's confusing, i don't even understand it. it was inspired by the two fics here on ao3; [no bite](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13720473) by spacetriangles and [under the illuminating lights](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13089519) by babyblueliquor.
> 
> enjoy !!

Silk fabric is tickling Mingyu's back. He shifts, bare skin sliding across the red bedspread. There's a faint click off to the side. A tap. More clicking. Mingyu stretches and tilts his head back, angling his face towards the red fluorescent lights buzzing above his head.

A thorn digs into his arm, and he swears. He hears light laughter, and knocks the rose away, off the bed. It makes a muffled sound as it hits the floor, and Mingyu turns to see its white petals scattered on the black carpet. He shifts again, lets his legs fall open and covers his eyes with his arm. A few more clicks, more shifting.

“How do you feel?” Minghao's voice is rough and quiet; Mingyu hardly catches it, and it's followed by a few more clicks. Mingyu's eyelids feel heavy, and his cheeks feel hot.

“Horny.” His voice is a wisp, and Minghao laughs again. “Besides horny.” Mingyu hears the tripod shift.

“I feel claimed. I feel open and vulnerable. I also feel like a God. I feel as if people are going to come to my altar and pray. I feel infinite, spread out like this.” A click. The fluorescent lights hum and stutter. 

“Do you understand what I mean?” Mingyu sits up, a rogue petal in his hair. The bed sheets are creased. He doesn't care. They're ugly bed sheets. He wishes they'd crease so much that they tear.

“Yes. If you were a God, Mingyu, I'd worship you every day.” Minghao moves back from the camera. His knit sweater is falling off of his shoulder. It's ugly, like the bed sheets, Mingyu thinks. Minghao doesn't look ugly though. Mingyu stares at his exposed skin, smooth and glowing. He's still horny, and he's still naked on a bed with a bleeding arm. He needs a plaster.

“Do you need a plaster?” Minghao tilts his pretty head.

“I need a plaster.” Mingyu falls back on the bed and lets the fluorescent lights burn holes of scalding colour into his eyeballs. He rolls over and shuts his eyes, bright white pulsing inside his skull.

He opens his eyes again to let the light escape. The room is dark, and there's a sleeping figure next to him. His silhouette is all sharp angles and tan skin. Mingyu blinks, and the last of the bright light seeps out of his eyes and pools on the floor.

The blinds are cracked open. It's sunny outside, midday. Mingyu sits up. There's a half smoked cigarette on the bedside table. He stands and pulls on a jumper he finds tossed on the cabinet. He looks back at the man in his bed. He's sitting up, hair sticking out and lips chapped.

“Do you want a coffee?” Mingyu pulls on a pair of underwear.

“Yes, please.” The man stands up, muscles tensing and bones cracking.

The kitchen is quiet but for the hum of the kettle. The man is opposite Mingyu; leant against the counter and staring out the window. He has a freckle on his cheek and a high-bridged nose. Mingyu hates him.

“You're pretty.” He says instead.

“Thank you, Mingyu.” His voice is seems as if it'd taste like smoke and cinnamon and the colour yellow. Mingyu chews his lip.

“You don't remember my name.” It's not a question, so Mingyu doesn't answer.

“It's Seokmin.” The kettle shrieks and Mingyu turns away. He turns away from the man with the pretty lashes that touch his cheekbones, the perfect teeth hidden behind full lips. He pours water into the two cups and turns back, holding a cup out. The man's moved to a seat behind the counter.

“Thank you, Mingyu.”

“Anytime, Minghao.”

They move into the living room, and curl up on the couch, Mingyu in nothing but a loose sweater. It's not ugly like Minghao’s. It's a soft blue. The sleeves are rolled up and Minghao is unwrapping a plaster. He has pretty hands, long fingers. Mingyu entertains the idea of having them wrapped around his neck. Maybe later.

“You're stupid.” Minghao smooths the plaster down on his skin.

“The roses were your idea.” Mingyu pulls away roughly. The corner of the plaster snags on Minghao's nail, and pulls at the hairs on his arm.

“And I told you not to touch the thorns. I told you that you'll get hurt.”

“You stupid bitch, don't blame me.” Minghao's fingernails are digging into Mingyu's wrists, maybe leaving sunken white crescents to match the ones on his hips.

“I'm the bitch? You're the bitch, always running around after me like a dog on a leash. Stupid bitch.” Minghao's teeth are grinding together, and Mingyu's face is flushed. He chews his lip. Again.

“Stop chewing your fucking lip.” Minghao lets go of his wrist. There are no marks. Maybe there aren't any on his hips, either. Mingyu hits him, lightly, and tangles his hands in his sweater.

“Only if you kiss me.”

“Needy bitch.” Minghao's lips are warm and soft. Mingyu whimpers. Minghao's hands are on his hips, slipped up under his sweater. The doorbell rings, and Mingyu pulls away and stands to see who it is.

The peephole in the door is cracked. Useless, now, because Mingyu can't see much but a distorted head of red hair. He opens the door anyway.

“Have I come at a bad time?” The man picks at his stubby nails and watches Mingyu.

“Of course not, I was just making dinner. Come in.” He leads the man to the kitchen, and waves his hand in the direction of the stools along the counter.

“Do you want some food?”

“He died, Mingyu.” The man sits down.

“I've no idea who you're speaking of. Do you want some food?”

“He was alone when he died.”

“I don't know who you're talking about, Soonyoung. Do you want some fucking food?”

Soonyoung shrugs. His lip is bleeding as he chews mindlessly at it. His steel toed boots are kicking at the cupboards and it's driving Mingyu insane from where he stands, spooning vegetables into bowls. He tells Soonyoung as much.

“You're driving me crazy. Stop that.” 

Soonyoung stops.

“Why don't you care, Mingyu?” He accepts the bowl, and prods at the contents.

“Because I don't know who you're talking about. Probably a one night stand? I don't care about my one night stands. You're not supposed to care.” He slams the half empty pot down on the stove. “Sex is sex. Sex isn't love”

“Funny that, because he loved you.” Soonyoung pushes his bowl away. Waste of food.

“He didn't fucking love me. I don't even know who you're talking about, Soonyoung. I haven't seen any of them since, okay? I don't care.” Mingyu pushes Soonyoung's bowl into the sink. He thinks the corner of it chips. He doesn't care.

“You know exactly who I'm talking about.” Soonyoung stands up. “I'm leaving.” 

Mingyu doesn't offer him the courtesy of walking him to the door. He leaves his half touched plate of food on the counter and goes into the empty living room. The television is still on, playing old reruns of some reality show.

Mingyu's phone vibrates on the table. He ignores it. It vibrates again. He grabs the remote, ups the volume by three. A few minutes pass, then it vibrates again, buzzing across the table and crashing to the ground. Mingyu mutes the television and picks it up. It's a phone call. The caller ID flashes. He accepts it.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Kim fucking Mingyu, next time you ignore my calls you're a dead man.” 

Mingyu leans into the couch, legs widely spread and arm slung over the back. “What do you want, Wonwoo?”

An exasperated sigh. “You know what I want.”

“I'll be there in half an hour.” Mingyu picks at his nail bed, tongue running along the inside of his cheeks.

“Kim Mingyu.”

“Okay, ten minutes.”

He turns off the television set and stands. It won't even take him ten minutes. He knows that. He grabs his coat, flicks off the light, and falls out of the front door.

His back hits the bed with a soft noise, and Wonwoo's legs are either side of his hips. He sits up, kisses Wonwoo, pulls him back down. He falls backward, keeps falling.

He hits the wall and hands are running up his chest, lips are at his neck. He gasps and tugs at the shirt in front of him. Stretched across hard planes and soft indentations. 

“So pretty, Mingyu baby.” 

“Seokmin. Bedroom.” Mingyu grabs his hand and leads him down the hallway. He's aware of the heat running through his veins, pulsing behind his eyes as he turns the handle to his room. He drops the other mans hand and walks to the bed, turns around, and sits on the edge.

“So, where do you want me, Mister Cameraman?” The bedspread is ugly, Mingyu thinks. He hears a bag unzipping.

“You have to strip, Gyu. And on the bed.” The man turns. His brown hair is bunched in an untidy, small ponytail at the base of his neck. “I have some lights I have to set up.” He unpacks his bag, hands Mingyu a bouquet of roses. 

“Lay them all over the bed. Careful, don't touch the thorns. They'll hurt you.”

Mingyu takes time getting undressed as the lights are positioned. The red glow flushes his skin. He wonders if he looks pretty.

“Minghao. Do I look pretty?” He stretches out on the bed.

“You look very pretty.” Minghao sets up his tripod. “Very pretty indeed.” He plays with the settings for a while as Mingyu gets comfortable. “Are you ready?”

“Wait. I need to make a phone call super fast.” Mingyu crawls off the bed and reaches for his phone on the cabinet. He steps out of the room, a robe wrapped around him, and types into his phone. Quickly.

“Soonyoung.”

“Mingyu?”

“I know who you're talking about.”

“I know.” Soonyoung is silent for a few moments. “Did you love him?”

“Yeah.”

“Thought as much. I still have some of his stuff. Do you want his stuff?” Mingyu hears Soonyoung shift. 

“Yeah.”

“Should I come around?”

“Yes, please.”

“Be there in fifteen.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Mingyu hangs up. The floor is cold under his bare feet. He opens the door to his room again and falls back onto the bed.

He almost feels the thorns scratching at his skin.. Almost feels the lips at his neck. Almost feels the legs bracketing his hips.

Almost.

**Author's Note:**

> [my twt](https://twitter.com/08cult)


End file.
